


Catch as Catch Can

by Lightspeed



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Catch Wrestling, Exhibitionism, Fight Sex, Frottage, Greco-Roman Wrestling, M/M, Rain, Thunderstorms, Wrestling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-05
Updated: 2013-03-05
Packaged: 2017-12-13 12:32:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/824350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lightspeed/pseuds/Lightspeed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A successful day of pooshing leetle kart turns into a hell of a rain storm.  Casual ribbing ends up with Heavy and Medic facing off and wrestling, which ends in a different kind of struggle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Catch as Catch Can

**Author's Note:**

> (Warning, I am a huge Wrestling weenie.)  
> The title is the original British name for what is now simply known as Catch Wrestling or Loose-Hold Wrestling, the type of wrestling you see called “Pro Wrestling”, with the guys in trunks and tights and maybe masks being ludicrous and trying to look like they’re killing each other without actually doing it. I’m a big fan, as this story might make abundantly clear. And I like the idea of Medic having done collegiate wrestling in school, mostly because young Medic in a singlet is kind of adorable.
> 
> I’ve fudged a lot with the moves as far as date of innovation goes. Tatsumi Fujinami, the man who innovated the Dragon Screw, for example, didn’t even start wrestling until the 70s. Just, um, try and ignore that if you care. *whistles*

It had been one of those claustrophobic sort of days, when everything felt so close, so cloying, so chokingly narrow. The sky was dark even at noon, thick with grey clouds pregnant with rain, crowding above to menace the lands below with the threat of downpour. The winds were still, holding the storm overhead defiantly. The whole day had been humid and warm, but none of this managed to dampen the spirits of the employees of Builder's League United. This day, they were victorious, and nothing could take that away from them, nature be damned.

Trudging back from the blast site, following the line of railroad tracks through Badwater Basin, the team chattered excitedly about the day's combat. It had been an overwhelming push as they guided their payload, a cart laden with a near-comically oversized bomb, up a set of disused tracks to the site of a huge weapons cache in the forward RED base. The explosion had been enormous; Heavy had barely the time to dive behind cover before it took out the cache, huge chunks of the floor, and RED's scout and soldier. Medic had been quick to patch him up as the rest of the team played clean-up, rolling in to put down the remaining enemy mercenaries, demoralized from their failure.

The walk back to base was a triumphant one, full of bragging and insults as the tired, bloody, dirty warriors returned from a hard day's work.

“An' the way that spy screamed when I broke his kneecap, oh man, it was hilarious!”

“Scout, I think you delight far too much in killing the RED team's spy. They had lost, just put him down at get it over with,” Spy reprimanded, loosening his tie.

“Get into a fight with the guy bonin' your mom and tell me you ain't gonna relish every shot you get on 'im,” the younger reasoned, a venomous curl to his lip. He did not look to Spy as he said it, taking care to watch his footing as he hopped down from a rock.

“Fair enough.”

The sky rumbled, as if to sound its alarm. With distant cracks like a lash on a tin roof, nature decided to deliver its own payload. Fat, heavy drops began to fall. Loud plips smacked down on the rocks and dust, and soon enough, the sweaty men dragging themselves along the dirt.

“Thought I was done for; I tell you this,” Heavy broke the sudden, awkward tension, rubbing his side where now-healed wounds had been opened during the blast. “Explosion was so giant, almost did not make it to cover.”

“Could'a just eaten it. Hit respawn, save yourself the walk back,” Sniper posited with a grin. He let out a small yelp as a large drop hit the back of his neck, sliding down his shirt.

“This is true. But dying hurts. I do not like to die if can avoid.”

Drops turned rapidly to a trickle, which moved to a shower, and before they knew it, the mercenaries were caught in a full-on downpour. Rain cascaded from the sky in sheets, light winds shoving the water at strange angles as it passed. The dusty ground soaked up some, but could not keep up, soon pooling water and mud around the tracks and along the desert floor.

“The walk back is good for you, besides,” Medic piped up with a smirk.

“Is Doktor calling me fat?”

“Doktor is saying maybe you will be faster if you do more walking. You will be better able to dodge explosions,” the German corrected. He removed his spectacles, useless when covered in raindrops, and slid them into the hard pouch at his belt.

“Can only walk so fast with Sascha in hands, Doktor. She is not tiny baby gun. I am strong, and that is most important.” Heavy sniffed, presenting one of his arms and flexing it, his bicep standing stark against his flesh, even below the layer of fat that covered him. Beads of water ran along the lines of his muscle, and washed his arm hair down until it was flat against his skin. It earned him an appreciative smile from the doctor.

“Strength only means so much if you are lying on the ground,” he teased, his smile turning to an impish grin.

Heavy balked, stopping in his tracks. “There is no man who can bring me to ground. I am giant.” He seemed nearly offended.

Medic rounded on Heavy, looking him over. He calmly set his medigun and pack-rig on a nearby rock. “You think so?”  
“Know so.”

“Then allow me to ruin your day. Heavy, please put Sascha down somewhere safe.”

The big Russian looked to his partner with skepticism. Pursing his lips for a moment, he carefully placed his beloved minigun on a large, flat stone near the tracks.

“Your bandolier and flak vest, too.”

Heavy did as he was told, then returned to the doctor, who had removed his coat and gloves. The rain had soaked through his shirt and vest quickly, leaving it clinging to him. The white dress shirt was nearly transparent where it stuck to his flesh.

“Now, Schatz, you are, indeed, a mighty giant of a man. And if I were to do this,” he pushed on Heavy's chest with all of his strength. The big man was unmoved. “I would have no success. But, though your legs carry you, and Sascha, you neglect them in favour of your arms and torso. Leaving you open for this.”

He crouched quickly, seizing Heavy's left leg. Standing, he lifted the man's leg from beneath him, throwing him off his balance. The big man threw out his arms to catch his balance, but to no avail, as Medic wrapped his arms around the leg and rolled his whole body to the inside, tugging Heavy off of his feet and into the air. His eyes went wide as his body spun over and his back slammed into the mud, a loud splash filling his ears moments before the water itself did. Medic, of all people, had brought him down.

“What?!” Heavy bellowed in outrage, sitting up, soaked.

Murmurs of surprise rippled through the rest of the team, standing around to watch. Scout was just outright laughing, or at least was, until Demoman silenced him with a cuff upside the back of his head. Engineer lifted his goggles from his eyes. “You see that? That was a hell of a dragon screw!”

Medic stood over his partner and extended a hand to help Heavy up, his point made, his fun over. The big Russian looked to the doctor's hand and honest smile, and a smirk crawled across his lips. He grabbed hold of his teammate's hand, and with the barest effort, yanked Medic down with him.

The German yelped as he was pulled from his feet, landing with a viscous shlorp in the thickening mud. The big, booming laugh of his partner only served to bruise his ego further. Rolling to his knees, he turned to see Heavy pulling his soaked shirt off, flexing for effect. Mud clung to his body hair and in the cracks of his hands. Small bits caked in the stubble on the back of his head, washing down his neck and shoulders in the ensuing downpour. A fearsome, glorious sight.

Rushing to undo his buttons, Medic quickly shed his vest and shirt, the wet fabric clinging to him as he tugged it roughly off. He did not bother to make a display, knowing he could not compete with Heavy, his chest and belly hair soaked flat against his skin. He simply rolled his shoulders and assumed a ready stance. His arms out in front of him, fingers twitching, ready to grab. His knees were bent, his back arched forward. It was a posture the rest of the team could readily identify as a stance for amateur wrestling.

“Think the doc hit more than books in med school?” Demoman asked, chewing thoughtfully at his lip.

“He's a fit guy. Probably a reason for that,” came Engineer's response from behind him.

Heavy snorted, a superior grin creasing his handsome features. Medic had been acting rather mischievous all day, teasing him during their morning routine and playfully testing him through the entire push through the afternoon. His capricious streak was going to come to an end. The big Russian was going to punish him, because they were in his world now. His gloves were off, his fists bare, and he was going to teach the Teuton a lesson.

Thunder rattled the windows of the nearby buildings, the heavy patter of the rain all around them. The rest of the team watched with great interest. Scout had taken up a perch on a large rock, while Engineer, Spy, and Sniper had gathered in front of where Sascha lay. Pyro quietly counted the stack of bills Soldier and Demoman had bet on Medic to lose, tapping his foot in a puddle while the other two began to root for the big Russian.

Blue eyes met beneath furrowed brows dripping with rainwater. Medic reached a hand up to slick his hair back, his spit curl having plastered itself to his forehead. Heavy saw his opening and launched forward, his huge arms wrapping around the doctor's waist. He stepped around Medic, bringing himself belly-to-back with the smaller man, skin slick with mud. He grabbed his own wrist, clasping his arms around Medic, holding him tight. The doctor yelped in surprise, grabbing at Heavy's hand, trying to wrench himself free. The big man's grip did not budge. Holding tight, Heavy arched his back, falling backwards as he went. He lifted Medic from his feet and up above his head, crashing down into the puddle with the smaller man's shoulders and back taking the brunt of their fall, mud splashing high around them, completely soaking Medic's head. The big man's feet were still on the ground, his knees bent, top of his head planted in the muck in a perfect bridge.

“A damned German suplex,” Engineer observed with amusement, elbowing Sniper.

Spy snorted, “A clever insult.”

Medic's ears rung, his back and shoulders wracked with the force of the slam, his strength leaking out of him with his body heat into the cold mud. He barely registered when Heavy dropped out of his bridge to fall flat on his back, then climb to his knees. His eyes finally focused as the big man's form towered over him again, standing above him, that loud, thunderous laugh of his dampened by the real thunder overhead. The rain pooled in the corners of his eyes, the mud pooling in his ears. He felt heavy and sluggish, but he would not be defeated so easily. He knew what Heavy had done. What suplex he had performed. He would not let his pride be bruised.

Rolling up to his knees, Medic climbed to his feet, his arms back out at the ready. His opponent mimicked the stance, wiggling his fingers in the air mockingly. The doctor approached, slowly. When he was in arm's reach, he dropped to the mud with a splash, landing on his side as Heavy stepped to grab him. One foot in front of the big man's ankle, Medic wrapped his other leg around Heavy's, pressing against his calf. He pushed in opposing directions, pulling the giant from his feet, sending him plummeting forward, down into the mud. His arms shot out to catch himself, but slipped in the wet earth, giving him a face full of the stuff.

Medic unwrapped his legs from Heavy and scrambled atop him. Grabbing a leg, he captured it between his thighs, squeezing tight as he reached forward to wrap his arms around the larger man's chin. Tugging back, the doctor arched his back, hanging on desperately as his body threatened to slide clean off of Heavy's, the slick, silt-laden mud clinging to both men like it was in love with them.

Heavy's nostrils flared, his eyes wide in a mixture of surprise and excitement. Where had his doctor learned to fight like this? He was keeping the big man laid out on the ground, and held him tightly in this submission, his back compressed, his neck stretched, his legs burning. It was exhilarating! That warm skin against his cold, wet back did well to soften his agony.

“Drop toe hold into a stepover toehold facelock,” Engineer announced, calling the action with great interest.

The rest of the team had collected around him, eager to hear the names of the crazy moves being thrown. All except Spy, who was working overtime to try and look dispassionate despite his interest. Instead, he was making a show of trying to keep his cigarette lit.

The giant bucked, wedging his arms out from under himself. He grasped Medic's muddy hands, already slipping in their grip, and tugged them free. The spry doctor slid off of him once his grasp was gone, his legs sliding off of Heavy's. He hit the mud with a grunt and quickly climbed to his feet, shaking his hands clean. His eyes traced Heavy as the Russian regained his feet. He was covered in a layer of brown mud, rain streaming down him digging lines through his coating, clinging to his eyebrows and stubble, making him squint those pale blue eyes. His lips curled in a grin, his chest heaving with each breath, muscles tense like a coiled spring. He could see the lines of pectorals, trapezius, serratus anterior, bicep, tricep, deltoid, brachoiradialis, extensors, and flexors all outlined in flesh and mud, traced and chased by slithering rivulets of rain water. He was sure he was a sight himself, slim and messy, but Heavy seemed to wear it like a second skin. He looked vicious and alluring all at the same time. He oozed masculinity.

Medic realized he'd let himself be distracted too late as Heavy grabbed him in a bear hug. He felt the air leave his lungs as the big man squeezed, but found the mud had become too thorough a lubricant. He was sliding slowly downwards, out of Heavy's grip. A grin spread cross his lips as his opponent became visually frustrated, urging the doctor to wriggle and hasten his descent. Warm skin felt so nice, and soon Medic found a pressure against him as he wriggled. Realizing his position, his eyes went wide and looked up to Heavy, who had grown flushed as the smaller man had been essentially grinding against him.

“Bear hug, but it doesn't look like he can keep a hold.”

With a snort, Heavy dropped Medic and seized hold of his arm. He leaned down, grabbing the doctor between his thighs, his hand wrapping around one leg. He stood, tugging his teammate from his feet and up onto his shoulders. Medic's eyes went wide and he squirmed in Heavy's grip, trying to escape. The giant hefted him into position, knocking the wind out of the smaller man, and spun quickly in place a few times. Medic, growing dizzy, panicked and kicked, twisting his arm in Heavy's grasp. The mud and rain were with him, letting him tug his limb free and wrap it around the big man's head. He pushed off, sending himself heading face-first toward the ground, sliding down Heavy's back. His legs slipped from the giant's grip, sending him into the mud. Medic twisted, landing on his side and rolling up onto his knees. He reached an arm between the Russian's legs, grabbing him by the belt as he bent over, bracing himself in the mud with his other hand, and pushed, his side against the backs of Heavy's knees.

The big Russian waved his arms in the air, trying to steady himself, but found his feet leaving the ground. He tumbled backwards over Medic's back to land face-up in the mud once again. The smaller man climbed atop him, straddling his hips, hands flat on his chest. A fire burned in his eyes that he found he quite liked, a grin full of violence gritting his teeth.

“Fireman's carry with an airplane spin, looks like he was goin' for a death valley driver, but the doc turned it into a schoolboy sweep,” Engineer explained.

Heavy's hands instinctually found their way to Medic's hips, which, to his delight, began to slowly grind against his. A bulge had formed in the other man's trousers as well, and he could feel the heat pouring off of him. Heavy snarled hungrily, pulling Medic off of him and into the mud, rolling atop him. His big hands roved over that slim body, feeling every limber muscle, hastily unbuckling his belt and tugging his trousers free. With a rough yank, the smaller man's boots, briefs, and pants were just a pile in the mud, his body bare to the elements and to his touch.

Medic gasped in shock at the sudden intrusion of temperature. He was soaked, but the cold mud on his bare skin brought goosebumps to his arms. He busily opened his lover's belt and fly, pulling Heavy's pants down his hips as far as he could. The big man's erection freed, Medic took it in his hand, capturing his lover's lips in a hungry kiss.

Heavy quickly wriggled out of the rest of his clothes, kicking them aside, desperate to give Medic his full attention. Their fight for dominance continued as their tongues clashed, sliding over each other in a furious dance. They both tasted of mud, but neither really cared at this point as Heavy's hand replaced Medic's wrapping around both of them in his muddy grip, slippery and cool. Hips rolled, the hissed breaths and low, urgent grunts of combat having given way to those of ardor. The puddle sloshed about them as they moved.

Fingernails dug into Heavy's biceps, Medic's grip tight and insistent as he rocked into the giant's grasp. Heat poured off of them, mud easing the friction as their cocks slid against each other, head rubbing head, shaft rubbing shaft, catching each other so slightly on the ridges of their glans and foreskin. Desperate, whimpering moans poured over the German's lips as he parted from their kiss. He practically shivered in Heavy's arms, overwhelmed by adrenaline and sensation. He could feel his pulse, feel his lover's pulse against him, pounding through their bodies, pounding in Heavy's hand. Rain and blood thrummed in his ears, distant drums of war. The earthy scent of mud mixed with the metallic, iron-laden rain and ozone of the storm, tinged with the musky scent of Heavy's sweat served to intoxicate him. His toes curled, legs tense, back throbbing where he would be bruised from the suplex. He ground into his lover's grip, feeling his blurred vision begin to go pale, his stomach fluttering, pressure building. “Ach, mein Heavy, I'm going to--”

“Then come,” the big man growled, thrusting against his beloved, claiming him in another kiss.

The words rumbled through Medic. Thunder broke the storm, and he cried out into Heavy's mouth, tensing, clinging for dear life as he came, his seed splattering against their bellies. By the time he'd fallen limp, the big man roared against his lips, Heavy's orgasm shuddering through him, painting them in turn.

Heavy broke the kiss, panting, his chest heaving as his hand released them, slamming down into the mud to brace himself. He rolled off onto his side and pulled his doctor into his arms, hugging him tight before sluggishly sitting up.

He looked over to where Sascha sat, and reality came back to him. His world was no longer simply rain and mud and his beautiful doctor. The rest of the team sat in silence, wide-eyed, unable to move. Even Spy was agape, his cigarette having long fallen from his lips to the wet ground.

Pyro ran his thumb over the stack of bills in front of Soldier and Demoman. He pocketed the wad ceremoniously.

Medic sat up on his elbows and looked over, squinting, his face bright red. He looked to Heavy, who looked similarly shocked and guilty.

“So, uh, Engie? What was that hold called?” Scout asked, leaning back against Sascha with a smirk.


End file.
